


When the Storm Breaks

by octoberburns



Series: Salmon-Swift, its Captain, and Her People [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Babies, F/F, Fantasy, Found Family, Orcs, Sailing, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 16:10:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19467478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octoberburns/pseuds/octoberburns
Summary: Ruulo wants to escape her past; crossing the Haaol Sea is her ticket to a new life for herself and her child. Hishnak has never wanted anything more than what she has: a life sailing alongside her brother under Captain Vaar's command. Captain Vaar just wants to do her job and do it well, without any setbacks or surprises.Salmon-Swift's latest voyage isn't quite what any of them are expecting (it's better).





	When the Storm Breaks

**Author's Note:**

> My first monthly request story. Thanks to Ashley, Alex, and all my other supporters for making this possible!
> 
> This was based on the prompt "hot buff orc ladies go on an adventure."

“I’m not in the habit of taking passengers.”

On the dock in front of the merchant ship _Salmon-Swift_ , Ruulo squares her shoulders, doing her best to stand respectably straight without looking haughty—or desperate. “I know, ma’am,” she says. “I don’t mean to intrude on your business. But everyone says you’re the only ship worth asking who’s crossing the Haaol Sea this time of year.”

“Everyone’s been telling you lies,” the captain says, no inflection in her voice. “Captain Gradash, with the _Sea Wolf_ , is leaving in two days. His ship is larger. He’d have more room for you.”

Ruulo swallows. “I asked there first,” she says. On her breast Kirug sleeps, snug in the long strip of light-spun wool fabric she has cross-wrapped around her body; now she lifts her hand to rest it gently on his head. “He said he doesn’t carry children unless they’re old enough to work. Not unless you pay double. I have passage for two, not three.”

Captain Vaar Sun-Path is a woman of commanding aspect—the deep green of her skin touched with the greying shades of middle age, her shoulders broad, her body solidly muscled. She is immaculately dressed, with grey trousers tucked neatly into short leather boots, her blue tunic belted at the waist, the embroidery stylish and tidily stitched, the furs over her shoulders clean and well-kept. Her black hair, threaded only with a few stray strands of silver, is braided and pinned against her crown. Strings of glass beads loop around her throat and between the clasps on her furs; her ears, fingers, and tusks are decorated with wrought silver rings.

Her eyes, by contrast, are a brilliant gold, stunning against the dark tone of her skin. She levels them at Ruulo now, severe and inscrutable. “Why are you taking an infant across the Haaol in any case?” she says. “Does the child have no other parents to care for them while you go seeking your fortune?”

Ruulo swallows again, and shakes her head. “He died.”

“No family?” the captain presses.

Ruulo does her best not to flinch. “No. No one. And—I’m not seeking my fortune, ma’am. I intend to stay. I won’t leave my child behind.”

“I see.” Still no expression in the captain’s voice. She studies them again for a long moment, mother and child both, with neither sympathy nor scorn in her eyes—no emotion, in fact, in her eyes at all.

Ruulo has to fight not to drop her gaze. She knows how she looks. Her dress is kept as neatly as she’s been able, but it’s the only one she has, and she’s been travelling down the coast for nearly three weeks; even with her advantages, there’s only so much one can do. It’s been several days since she’s been able to properly brush her hair, longer since she’s washed. All her worldly possessions are in the pack on her back, and all her money is in the pouch she offered the captain to pay her passage. She has a child, but no family; a loop of dowry beads around her neck, but no marriage knot on her apron-skirt. Captain Vaar surely suspects she’s running from something—and she would be right to.

“Everyone works on my ship,” the captain says at last. “I don’t have enough space aboard that I can take on a passenger who can’t pull her weight. Is that clear?”

Her words are so unexpected that it takes Ruulo a moment to form a response. “Yes. Yes!” she says. “I can work, I swear. Kirug won’t get in my way. Thank you, ma’am.”

“And you address me as Captain, or Captain Vaar,” she adds. “Not ma’am.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Does the child require rations?”

“No, Captain,” Ruulo says. “He’s still nursing.”

The captain nods once and holds out her hand. Ruulo drops the pouch of coin into it. It’s all the wealth she has. It doesn’t feel like a loss.

“The tide turns one hour before sundown,” the captain says, stowing the pouch on her belt. “We won’t wait for you if you’re late.”

“Yes, Captain,” Ruulo says again. “Thank you.”

Without another word the captain turns, striding off down the dock with the rolling gait of a lifelong sailor. Ruulo looks after her to the ship, to the crashing sea, to the gulls wheeling overhead, and breathes in deep to suppress the urge to scream with joy.

By nightfall she’ll have left the shores of her homeland forever.

She’s made it. She’s getting out.

* * *

_Salmon-Swift_ is a knarr, broad and deep of hull and short enough that she can be crewed by just a dozen orcs, if they’re competent sailors. Decks at the fore and aft provide the crew with a place to stand; the centre of the ship is open to the hull, packed full of crates and bales wrapped in waterproof oilcloth. The crew sleeps in turns among the cargo; in deference to her baby, Ruulo has been given a shift through the darkest hours of the night.

Three others sleep at the same time as her—two bodies to either side of the keel, to help keep the ship in balance. The sailor who beds down beside her introduces herself as Hishnak. She’s muscular and very tall, perhaps halfway between Ruulo’s age and the captain’s, with a bluish tint to her skin and very dark eyes. Her deep auburn hair is long, tied up in a rough knot on the back of her head. One of her tusks is broken off at the tip, the jagged edge worn smooth by the years; it gives her grin a rakish air.

“They wanted to draw straws for this spot,” she says, tilting her head at their shift-mates across the hull. “I volunteered. I like babies.”

“That’s charitable of you,” Ruulo says. Kirug had spent the first hours of the voyage miserably seasick and wailing—to the point where Ruulo had almost considered calming him with a surreptitious charm, no matter how risky that would be. Thankfully it hadn’t been necessary: he had worn himself out eventually, though he’s still fretting against her breast. “Usually he’s less fitful than this.”

Hishnak props herself up on one elbow and reaches out to stroke Kirug’s face. His tusks are coming in, peeking up over his lower lip. She taps one gently and he turns his head, latching onto her finger to gnaw on it industriously.

“It’s not his fault,” she says with equanimity. “He’s just a baby. They’re all like that.”

Ruulo pulls a face. “I’m glad it’s not just mine, then.”

Hishnak laughs. “He your first?”

“First and only.” Kirug continues to gum at the sailor’s finger; despite herself, Ruulo starts to relax. “Most of the time I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“My understanding is that no one does,” Hishnak says. “What’s his name?”

“Kirug. It’s a kind of pine that grows in the north.” The home she had shared with Pagluk had been surrounded by them.

Hishnak nods approvingly. “If you need a break, and I’m not busy, I’d be happy to take him,” she says. “All my sisters have children, and I miss them when I’m sailing. It’s the only downside to my work.”

“Do you have a big family?” Ruulo says. To her horror, she sounds far more wistful than she had intended.

Hishnak laughs again. It’s a nice sound, full-throated and deep. “Too big, I sometimes think,” she says. She jerks her chin towards the prow. “My brother Kurzh sails with us. The rest are in Baraag.”

The town for which the _Salmon_ is bound. “Are you happy to be going home?” Ruulo says. She speaks with as little movement as she can: on her chest, lulled by the comfort of something to chew on, Kirug is drooping into sleep.

Gently, Hishnak withdraws her hand and wipes it on her tunic. “I’m excited to see my family. But home for me is here.”

“I can’t imagine,” Ruulo says. “This is the first time I’ve ever been to sea.”

Hishnak’s answering smile is amused, but not mocking. “Yes, I know,” she says. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it. By the time the month is up you may even find you like it.”

Ruulo laughs quietly. “That’s if the captain doesn’t throw me overboard first,” she says. “She doesn’t seem very impressed with me. Or with anything.”

“That’s Captain Vaar,” Hishnak agrees. She turns onto her back, settling onto the covered bales of cloth they’re using as bedding. “Don’t take it personally. She’s just serious-minded. She cares a lot more than you’d expect from a face like hers.”

Ruulo stares. There’s such an astonishing note of fondness in Hishnak’s voice when she speaks of the captain that it seems impossible that this is her first glimpse of it. “Oh,” she says. “You and the captain are—”

“Not when we’re on the ship,” Hishnak interrupts, good-humoured. “She’s strict about keeping things tidy, on voyages. While I’m working, she’s Captain Vaar, and I follow her orders.”

“Right,” Ruulo says. She darts a glance downward, confirming what she already knows: neither Hishnak nor Captain Vaar wear a marriage knot on their belt, which means their partnership isn’t exclusive, but that says nothing of their commitment. “And ashore?”

Hishnak smiles, closing her eyes against the ship’s lamplight. “Ashore, I’ve been in love with her for ten years,” she says. “And I’ll leave it to you to figure out who follows whose orders, kitten.”

A startled flush prickles its way over Ruulo’s cheeks, and she has to clap a hand to her mouth to stifle her giggles.

Hishnak grins at having made her laugh, but doesn’t open her eyes. “You should sleep while you have the chance,” she says. “If a storm strikes, you’ll wish you’d rested longer.”

“That’s good advice for both sailors and mothers,” Ruulo says. “Goodnight, Hishnak.”

“Goodnight.”

Hishnak is out in moments, but it takes longer for Ruulo to drift off. She shifts Kirug on her chest and listens to the wash of the waves, the creak of the sail, the voices of the crew calling periodically back and forth to each other. It feels so foreign still, but she thinks she could come to like it.

This is your home for the next month, she tells herself. You’ll have to get used to it sometime.

She closes her eyes, and doesn’t remember falling asleep.

* * *

It’s easy to settle into the rhythm of life at sea. Every morning Ruulo wakes to Hishnak’s gentle jostling, nurses Kirug while she eats, and wraps her child against her chest to take her turn at trimming the sails or keeping lookout or watching for rocks from the prow. Captain Vaar never seems to grow more impressed with her, but she does take care to assign Ruulo only to tasks that can be interrupted easily, or that will allow her to nurse Kirug as she works. And she wears that same impassive face no matter who she’s talking to, even Hishnak—so, Ruulo reasons, she’s probably doing fine.

Ten days after they set sail, they make their first stop: the village of Pirruk, on the island of the same name. They sail into the harbour on a calm afternoon, a fleet of nimble fishing boats breaking off from their work to escort them in to the docks.

Half the crew is given liberty for the night, and wastes no time in making for the tavern. The rest stay on the docks, unloading grain and apples and linen and leathers, and loading the barrels of salt fish and bales of thick-spun wool fabric the islanders have for sale. The captain descends from the ship to do her business with the master of the village, but turns aside first when she spots Ruulo waiting uncertainly next to the bustle.

“Everyone seems to know what they’re doing already,” Ruulo says by way of apology.

“You’re a passenger,” Captain Vaar says, uninflected as ever. “You have the freedom of the island. We leave with the dawn tide. Be sure you’re back before then.”

“Yes, Captain,” Ruulo says with relief.

The captain starts to turn away, then pauses to consider her—and the infant on her chest. “I suppose you won’t be carousing in the tavern all night,” she says, so unexpectedly frank that Ruulo has to bite down a laugh.

“Probably not,” she agrees. “Maybe when Kirug is older.”

Captain Vaar nods, her mouth flickering with the tiny, unbelievable twitch of a smile. “There will be space to sleep aboard if you need it.”

“Thank you,” Ruulo says, too shocked by that brief glimpse of expression to formulate any further thought. She makes her escape as soon as the captain turns away, with no idea what her emotions are doing.

She’s calmed by the time she makes it to the village square, where a small impromptu market has sprung up in the wake of the _Salmon_ ’s arrival. There’s a man there selling soft cheese and fresh bread, and Ruulo is pleased to barter a lump of beeswax and a length of ribbon for the food after more than a week of ship’s biscuits and hard dried fruit.

She considers sitting down to eat somewhere in the village, but finds herself unexpectedly shy of the attention she’s drawing: most of the villagers have the same dark auburn hair and bluish tint to their skin that Hishnak and her brother share, but Ruulo and Kirug are a soft green so pale it’s almost white, with light eyes and silvery blond hair. It’s typical in the north, where she grew up, and noticeable but not unusual in Kagar, where they sailed from; here, it attracts whispers. So instead she collects up her purchase and ducks out of town, making for the bluff that overlooks the harbour.

Besides, she has another reason to want some privacy. She hasn’t worked any charms or changed any fortunes since she boarded _Salmon-Swift_ , for fear of what the crew would think, and the itch in the back of her mind is growing hard to ignore.

It’s sunny and warm at the top of the bluff, the air heavy with the scent of baking grasses. Ruulo unties the length of fabric she uses to carry Kirug, spreading it on the ground and laying him out on his back where he can kick and wave his arms to his heart’s content. He hasn’t yet learned to turn from his back to his stomach, though it could happen any day—but for the moment, she can eat her meal in peace.

As she eats she speaks charms over the half-open flowers dotting the ground around them, encouraging them to bloom large and fragrant. Kirug kicks with renewed energy as the magic flows around him, and with a smile Ruulo plucks an unfolding blossom and tickles him with it. His shrieks of delighted laughter echo and mingle with the cries of the seabirds over the harbour.

Like this, it’s simple. With nobody’s eyes on them, she can scratch the itch in her mind with the pure, uncomplicated pleasure of stretching a stiff muscle. It’s only her and Kirug, and her child is no more bothered by the whisper of power than she is. To them it never feels like a wrongness in the world.

After her magic had woken up, she had worried about Kirug’s own affinity. Would it be better to starve him of it? Could she keep him from developing that power? There was no hope for her, of course, but perhaps she could spare her child.

But it’s a simple truth that a mother whose magic wakes in childbirth will wake it in her baby as well: everyone knows that, if only so they know to fear it. And besides, it was whispered before her death that Pagluk’s grandmother had been a witch—the truth of which he told her, the first time he caught her weeping over their newborn child. Pagluk was no witch himself, had the same instinctive revulsion anyone does when faced with the unnatural flow of magical power, but he had learned his grandmother’s lessons. He had taken her in his arms and said, it’s like the Haaol currents. He needs to learn to swim in it, else he’ll drown, and drag his rescuers under. And so despite her fears Ruulo had begun to exercise her new power in Kirug’s presence, and together they had learned the joys of a gift she had always been taught was a horror. Now it’s all the more precious to her: Pagluk is gone, but they still have magic to bind them to each other.

She stays on the bluff with Kirug for hours, until her skin begins to burnish and her stomach growls with hunger and the setting sun touches the horizon. Then she wraps him up on her chest again and descends to the village, where she follows the scent of fish chowder to the tavern and finds Hishnak has saved a seat for her.

For the first time in days, the itch in her mind is quiet.

* * *

Three days out of Pirruk, they sail into a storm.

Ruulo startles from sleep at the heavy slap of rain. Kirug is already wailing against her belly, and she fumbles in the dark to wrap him against her body. The lanterns have gone out, their shields no match for the squall. She thinks she’s never seen such a confusion of wind and rain and lightning, not even in the storm that ripped the roof from old Bourk’s cottage when she was twelve.

Hishnak tosses her a rope and shows her how to tie it around her body to keep her from being lost if the tumult knocks her overboard. The other end is knotted to the mast, along with a dozen others. The captain points her there. “Make sure they’re secure!” she bellows over the boom of thunder. And then Ruulo has no more energy to spare on thinking.

It’s a harrowing few hours. She helps tie off the sail and the cargo, bails water from the hull as fast as she can, then takes a turn at the oars, paddling frantically in an effort to simply keep the ship from capsizing. Kirug has screamed himself out; now he’s just whimpering pathetically at the noise and the rain. More than once Ruulo has to bite down on her tongue to stop herself working magic over the ship; there’s no way, in these close quarters, that the _Salmon_ ’s crew could avoid feeling its discordant echoes. Trust Captain Vaar, she tells herself. Trust the sailors’ skill. They know what they’re doing. We’re not going to die.

The nose of the _Salmon_ dips, and a great wave surges up before them. With a shout, Captain Vaar wrenches on the steerboard, turning them directly into the swell—and then it crashes down over them, jarring the ship and sweeping them from prow to stern. Ruulo wraps one arm around Kirug and clings to her oar. For a moment she feels her feet leave the deck as the water drags at her, and then it’s past and she is left breathless, with Kirug sputtering and sobbing against her breast. She hears a wordless cry, and then—

“Kurzh!” Hishnak yells.

Ruulo whirls, her heart in her throat, but the other sailors are already hauling Hishnak’s brother back over the side; his safety line has held. His leg is unable to bear his weight, the angle sickeningly off, and there’s a flurry of movement around him as the sailors tuck him down out of the way into a gap in the cargo—and then they scatter back to their posts, driven by the urgency of the storm. Any more than that will have to wait.

Hishnak is beside her again. “Move, kitten!” she shouts over the rain, a businesslike reminder, and Ruulo startles and takes up her oar once more.

At last they come out on the other side of the storm. Around her orcs are shaking themselves off and squeezing rain from their hair, stowing their oars and lifting cargo out of the lower hull to bail the rest of the water, but all Ruulo can think of is Kurzh. She doesn’t even stop to unbind her child from her breast, just darts across the ship, reaching his side only two steps behind Hishnak. She helps her friend lift her brother onto a nearby crate where they can examine his leg. He hisses as they move him, clearly biting down a cry of pain; when she gets a proper look, Ruulo is astonished that he didn’t scream.

That his leg is broken—well, there’s no question of that. It sits twisted on the crate, the angle shrieking wrongness to Ruulo’s eyes as clearly as her magic must offend the senses of others. But it’s more than just a break: carefully, Hishnak cuts his trousers away, revealing the extent of the damage, and for a moment Ruulo has to close her eyes against nausea.

His thigh is shattered. The bone has torn through the skin; Ruulo can see the broken edges shifting against each other as he moves, despite the delicacy of Hishnak’s touch. His blood is dark against his skin, rapidly soaking into his trousers, and there’s so _much_ of it. It seems impossible to believe that he’s still conscious.

Suddenly Captain Vaar is there, and wordlessly Hishnak moves out of the way to cradle Kurzh’s head while the captain studies his injury. Abruptly Ruulo remembers that this is her lover’s brother; Hishnak is not his only family member aboard the _Salmon_. Both siblings seem more at ease with Captain Vaar there, and Ruulo is reminded of what Hishnak said, about how the captain cares.

“I’m sorry,” she pronounces at last, her voice heavy. “I don’t think I can save it. I can try splinting it, but I don’t expect it would heal right. If it gets infected there’s a good chance it’ll have to come off.”

Ruulo catches her breath, but Kurzh is stoic. “That’s alright, Captain,” he says through gritted teeth. “Better to lose the leg than my life. I know you’ll do your best.”

Hishnak makes a small sound in her throat. What goes unspoken is the sure knowledge that, no matter what happens to his leg, Kurzh will likely never sail with them again.

“Wait,” Ruulo finds herself saying. As one, Hishnak and Captain Vaar turn to look at her—startled, like they’d forgotten she was there. Kurzh says nothing; he just closes his eyes against the pain and sags into his sister. For a moment the only sound is Kirug, still fussing quietly on Ruulo’s chest.

“Something to say?” the captain says, when she doesn’t speak immediately.

Ruulo licks her lips and draws in a deep breath. “I—I think I can do something. I think I can—if you can splint his leg, like you said. I think I can save it.”

“Are you a healer?” Captain Vaar says. There’s an odd note in her voice that Ruulo doesn’t know how to place.

She swallows. “I’m—I’m a witch,” she says. Words she’s never once spoken out loud. “I can change his fortune. Charm the bone straight. I mean—I think I can. I’ve never done it before. But I’m sure I can—” She stops, aware of the pleading edge that’s crept into her voice. She can’t bear to look at Hishnak. “I know it sounds bad, but please trust me. If you want to tie me up after until you decide what to do with me, that’s okay, just—let me save him.”

“Do it,” Hishnak says abruptly. “If you can save his leg—do it. I don’t care if it’s unnatural.”

Ruulo looks to Kurzh, but finds no answer there: he’s swimming in and out of consciousness, lost in agony. She turns her gaze on Captain Vaar, and finds her looking back, her brilliant gold eyes inscrutable. Finally the captain nods, just once.

“I’ll get the splint,” she says, and turns to stride off through the cargo.

Ruulo looks up at Hishnak, who is staring at her in desperate, terrified hope. Quite suddenly she finds she’s willing to do anything if it means soothing the fear from her face.

She can do this.

She steps forward, letting her fingers come to rest gently—so gently—on Kurzh’s knee. “It’s going to feel wrong,” she says, surprised at how steady her voice is. “You’re going to feel like you want to run. I need you to hold him steady.”

Hishnak inhales slowly. Her eyes slide to Captain Vaar, returning to their side with a wood and leather splint, and she seems to settle herself. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Ruulo closes her eyes, calling up her power, reaching out with her mind to touch Kurzh’s shattered thigh. The magic rises in her with a feeling like a cat stretching to wakefulness, satisfied and ready to move. She feels rather than hears Hishnak’s indrawn breath, the captain’s swiftly mastered revulsion, the distant and muffled nausea that awakes in Kurzh through the haze of pain. On her chest, Kirug quiets at last, soothed by the familiar current of power flowing around her.

And then she knows nothing more but blood and muscle and bone, and screaming agony, and the captain’s meticulous hands as, side by side, they knit Kurzh’s leg back together.

* * *

When Ruulo wakes, it takes her a long time to remember where she is. In her dreams the rocking of the ship had transmuted itself into the echo of Kurzh’s pulse, and for a moment she doesn’t understand why she’s breathing in cool salt and not rich warm copper.

She opens her eyes. She’s lying curled on the bales of fabric she uses for a bed, even though the sky is light and her sleep shift is still hours away. Next to her, Hishnak is seated tailor-style on a crate, bouncing Kirug in her arms. She looks up when Ruulo moves and smiles immediately; try as she might, Ruulo can’t see anything strained about it.

“You’re awake,” she says. “About time, kitten, I think he’s getting hungry.”

Ruulo pushes herself into an upright position and accepts her child into her arms, already shifting her dress out of the way. “How is Kurzh?” she says. Her mouth tastes of dead air.

“Resting,” Hishnak says, genuine relief on her face. “The captain thinks his leg is going to heal completely, thanks to you. Don’t tell her I said this, but she looked sort of stunned.”

“I’m glad,” Ruulo says. At her breast, Kirug makes a contented noise as he suckles. “So… what happens now?”

“Captain gave us a rest day,” Hishnak says. “We’re anchored right now while everyone catches up on their sleep. We should be setting sail again in a couple hours.”

“No, I meant—” Ruulo begins, then finds her words have failed her.

“Oh,” Hishnak says. “You mean about—you being a witch.”

“I’m surprised the captain didn’t have me tied up while I slept,” Ruulo says quietly. Kirug makes a small protest, and she switches him to her other breast. “I’m surprised the crew didn’t demand it.”

Hishnak shifts awkwardly. “Some of them were a bit unsettled, I won’t lie to you. But—you saved Kurzh. We all know what a broken leg means at sea. And anyway, it’s the captain’s decision. She did say she wanted to talk to you when you woke.”

“What? Why didn’t you say so before—”

“Easy,” Hishnak says, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t need to rush. Finish feeding Kirug. Drink some water. Go to her when you’re ready.”

But Ruulo doesn’t want to sit on her anxiety any longer than she has to. As soon as Kirug finishes nursing she wraps him up on her chest, tidies her hair, and rinses out her mouth with a ladleful of water scooped hastily from the communal barrel. Then she leaves Hishnak to return to work, and goes to speak with the captain.

Captain Vaar is at her customary place on the rear deck, keeping a sharp eye on the workings of the ship and conveying her commands to the orc at the steerboard. She watches impassively as Ruulo climbs up out of the cargo, stepping half a pace back without comment to give her space to join her.

“Captain,” Ruulo says, fighting to keep her voice even. “Hishnak said you wanted to speak to me.”

The captain regards her silently for a moment, then says, “I won’t ask why you concealed your magic. That much is obvious. I cannot—I will not—blame you for that deception.”

Ruulo bows her head. “Thank you, Captain.”

“On the contrary,” Captain Vaar says, so firmly that Ruulo lifts her head in surprise. “I should be thanking you. Because of you a member of my crew, someone who is family to me no less, will be able to walk well enough to continue sailing with me. I do not have to worry about losing him to infection. I will not have to perform surgery to cut away his leg.”

Ruulo stares at her. “But—I used magic,” she finds herself saying. “I did something unnatural.”

“Witnessing it made me feel ill," the captain says frankly. “I’m given to understand this is an unavoidable side effect of witchcraft.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“I have not,” the captain says, “spent a lifetime mastering my emotions, only to allow my body’s instinctive disgust to be the ruler of my reactions to you. Magic is unnatural, yes. It also saved Kurzh’s leg. Very possibly his life.” She pauses, contemplating Ruulo with a slight tilt of her head. “I would like to offer you a job.”

It takes Ruulo a full six seconds to process the words she just heard. “What?” she says.

“You have been a competent sailor,” Captain Vaar says, as if she hasn’t just upended Ruulo’s entire world. “More, you can certainly learn in time. I am willing to train you on whatever skills you need in exchange for having a healer who can repair broken bones on board my ship. I watched you _reassemble shattered bone_ right before my eyes. I’d be a fool not to hire you.”

Ruulo can feel the world spinning around her. “But—that’s stupid!” she cries. “I could bring a curse down on you, or—or make your ship run aground, or—what if I decided to unmend the breaks I healed? Keeping a witch around is suicide! And even if I only ever did good workings, you’d still be able to feel the wrongness of it every time I did magic. You don’t want that kind of unnatural power around, no one does!”

Captain Vaar just looks at her in silence for a long minute. “I begin to understand,” she says finally, more softly than Ruulo has ever heard her speak before, “why you flinched when I asked you if your child had any other family.”

That stops Ruulo cold, and suddenly she feels like she’s about to burst into tears. ”My—my mother was there,” she says. “When he was born. I was going to bleed out, nothing was working to stop the blood, and—”

“And your magic awoke to save you,” the captain says, nodding once. “It’s a common enough story. The child is a witch as well, I take it?”

Ruulo nods, briefly closing her eyes. Though Kirug hasn’t shown any sign of working magic himself—won’t, until he’s old enough to speak charms or focus his will—that he isn’t bothered by her power is evidence enough.

“And what of his father?” Captain Vaar says. “Did he abandon you as the rest of your family did?”

Ruulo swallows and shakes her head. “No, he—Pagluk really did die. He was the last good thing in my life, apart from Kirug, and—” She stops, realizing that the promised tears have made good on their appearance. Captain Vaar waits quietly, giving her time to master her voice.

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “There was a fever. About three months before I came to Kagar,” she continues at last. “Kirug and I both took sick, but it wasn’t nearly as bad for us as a lot of others. All the same, by the time I recovered enough that I could have done something, Pagluk was—it was too late for him.” She sniffles, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “People said I must have willed it, otherwise I could have saved him. Never mind that he was the only person in the village who was still good to me! But there was talk that—well. I had to leave.”

“I see,” the captain says finally.

Ruulo says nothing, just waiting in desolate silence.

Captain Vaar considers her for another moment, but all she says is, “Think about the job offer. It makes no difference to your fare, of course. I’ll still deliver you to Baraag, as agreed, no matter what you decide. But you could have a place here.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Ruulo says miserably. “I’ll—I’ll think about it.”

But what she does, once she finds an unobtrusive corner to sit where she can feel the sea air on her face, is avoid thinking of anything at all. She watches the sun go down slowly, and plays with Kirug, and listens to the waves break against the hull of the _Salmon_ , and nothing more.

Hishnak finds her there just before dusk to give her her share of ship’s biscuit and salt fish, and perches casually on the rail next to her while Ruulo eats. She looks so magnificent silhouetted against the setting sun, her hair whipping carelessly in the wind, the set of her broad shoulders so entirely at ease, that abruptly Ruulo finds she can’t stand it.

“Why doesn’t it bother you?” she bursts out. She hadn’t even realized she intended to speak.

Hishnak turns to look at her, and she forges determinedly onward, pushing herself to her feet so they’re facing each other eye to eye. “You can’t tell me it didn’t. I could feel it, when I went deep into the magic. I _know_ it made you sick. But you’re sitting here like it doesn’t matter at all. Why?”

Hishnak cocks a brow. “Look around the ship,” she says. “What do you see?”

Ruulo blinks, then turns to obey. At first, she can’t fathom what Hishnak can be talking about: it’s the same _Salmon-Swift_ she’s been travelling on for two weeks, not a rope out of place, all the crew moving purposefully or relaxing on lookout or taking their rest out of the way of the bustle of working sailors. And then she realizes that’s the point.

It’s the same as it’s ever been. There’s no current of fear among the crew, no strain or unease in the orcs stationed near her; none of them are even avoiding the corner of the ship where she and Hishnak are speaking, except in the normal way everyone avoids everyone else to give them the pretence of privacy on a small vessel.

“None of them hate me,” she says wonderingly. “I was sure they’d be—I know they all must have felt it, when I was working magic, I thought they’d be horrified. But they’re not.” She turns back and asks again, genuinely this time, “Why?”

“You saved Kurzh,” Hishnak says, like it’s self-evident. “So maybe magic is unnatural. You’re not the first unnatural thing we’ve seen on the sea, you know. There are a lot of strange things out here, especially on the western islands. Most of us figure having something unnatural on our side for once might be a good idea.” Her lips quirk into a lopsided smile, emphasizing the line of her broken tusk. “Besides—you’re sweet, Ruulo. It’s obvious you’ve never hurt anything on purpose in your life. It’s hard to hate someone like you.”

Ruulo can feel the tears welling in her eyes again. “I don’t understand why you’re being so kind to me.”

“Oh, kitten,” Hishnak says, an undercurrent of laughter in her voice. “And here I thought I was making it obvious.” And she cups Ruulo’s face in both hands and draws her into a kiss.

Ruulo doesn’t realize how hungry she was for it until it’s happening. Her hands fist themselves in the front of Hishnak’s tunic of their own accord, and she opens her mouth to it, greedy for more. Hishnak’s tongue flicks out to trace her lips; the adornment she eschews on her fingers and tusks is present there in the form of a metal bar that pierces right through it. Gently Hishnak winds her hand into Ruulo’s hair and directs the tilt of her head, and with a little moan Ruulo melts against the larger woman’s body.

A noise of protest from Kirug puts paid to that. They break away from each other, both of them laughing.

“Maybe we can try that again later,” Hishnak says.

“I’d like that,” Ruulo says, giddy with the press of her lips. It had seemed miracle enough that Pagluk had stood by her when the rest of her family turned their backs; she had never expected that anyone else might love her again.

Hishnak grins and gets to her feet, kisses her brow, strides off across the deck to return to her duties. As Ruulo turns to watch her go, she catches sight of Captain Vaar, straight-backed and solid-bodied as ever on the rear deck of the ship—and for just a moment Ruulo thinks she might be smiling.

* * *

One week later they make their second stop at Haarz, the larger of two settlements on the island of Rir. The other half of the crew takes their turn at liberty here; this time, Ruulo accompanies them into the village square, where the local vendors are already doing brisk trade with orcs visiting from the other side of the island.

After nearly two months of travel, use, washing, drying, and reuse, the square of linen cloth Ruulo uses as a diaper for Kirug is getting a little worn, and she thinks it might be good to have a second one—especially on the ship, where she can’t just let him lie out naked while she waits for it to dry. She finds a woman who has set herself up selling tailoring services, and trades her a ball of embroidery yarn for a piece of scrap fabric large enough to serve a child of Kirug’s size.

The woman examines the muted purple yarn while Ruulo stows her new cloth in her pack. “This is a lovely colour,” she says. “I’ve never seen wool with this dye.”

“It’s a lichen,” Ruulo says. “It grows in the forests north of Kagar. I haven’t seen any since I left.”

“People will love this,” she says, and settles it in the basket with her other skeins of yarn. “You must have come a long way. You’re here with _Salmon-Swift_ , right?”

Ruulo nods. “We’re travelling to Baraag,” she says, resting her hand against Kirug’s back.

“To stay?” the woman says, scandalized—taking in Ruulo’s worn dress, the child on her chest, the lack of marriage knot on her apron-skirt. “And you with a baby and no spouse to help you! I can’t imagine. I have three, myself. I could never have done it alone.”

Ruulo’s romance with Hishnak is still very new, but even so— “I’m not alone,” she assures the other woman. “I have friends on the _Salmon_ , and their family is in Baraag. And Kirug is still young. He’s mostly manageable.”

“Not crawling yet, is he?”

“Not yet, thank the seas and stars,” Ruulo says, laughing. “This voyage would have been a nightmare otherwise.”

The tailor laughs, but her smile is wistful. “I miss when mine were that age. Kirug, was it? Do you think I could hold him for a minute?”

“Of course,” Ruulo says. She unwinds the wool wrap from her chest, gathering Kirug into her arms. But then, just as she’s about to hand him over, three things happen: there’s a warning buzz in the back of her mind, Kirug begins to wail, and the other woman snatches her hands back with a horrified gasp.

“What did you do?” she demands, her lips pulled back from her tusks in a snarl of disgust. “He feels—wrong. Something’s wrong about him!”

Ruulo shrinks back, gathering her crying child against her chest. Has Kirug started showing power of his own? Is that what she felt? No one’s ever said he felt wrong before—but then, she wonders, who has ever tried to hold him but her, Pagluk, and Hishnak? Did her mother ever try to hold him? She can’t remember. Maybe his magic knows, somehow, that he’s always been safe before, but now when offered into the arms of a stranger—

The woman is looking between her and her child, her eyes narrowed. “He has magic,” she says loudly, drawing the attention of nearby shoppers and market vendors. “ _You_ have magic. You must have, that’s the only way it wakes in a child that young. You brought it into our village!”

More and more eyes are turning on her. Ruulo cringes back, feeling terribly exposed, and wonders if she should run. But there’s already a crowd forming as the tailor continues to shout accusations, and Kirug is still wailing, and she’s starting to panic. All she knows is she can’t get close to them. She can’t risk anyone hurting Kirug.

And then, like the _Salmon_ ’s prow breaking through stormy seas, Captain Vaar shoulders her way through the crowd and strides towards her.

“What’s going on here?” she says, her voice carrying and clear and deadly calm.

The tailor falters briefly in the face of her stony expression, but soon rallies. “She’s a witch! Her and the child both!” she says. “Be careful, Captain—she could have enchanted you! You should let us take her and—”

But Captain Vaar cuts her off. “Understand this,” she said, her voice as hard as steel. “If any harm comes to her over this, or to any of my crew, _Salmon-Swift_ will never trade here again.”

Silence, but for Kirug’s cries. The captain doesn’t need to spell out the consequences Haarz would bear if she stops carrying the supplies they need, or the disaster that would ensue if she suggested to her friends among the Haaol Sea captains that they avoid trading there themselves. There is no greater threat she could make.

Ruulo had no idea she’d make it for her.

Without another word the captain bundles her off through the crowd before anyone else has the chance to confront them. Ruulo doesn’t remember the walk: she’s only conscious of her child sobbing fitfully against her breast, of shying away from every orc who passes nearby. It’s not until they reach the docks and the captain turns around to take her by the shoulders that she abruptly comes back to herself.

“Ruulo, are you alright?” she says. “They didn’t hurt you? Or the child?”

Ruulo stares. Try as she might, she can’t remember Captain Vaar ever addressing her by name before.

“Ruulo?”

She shakes herself. “I’m not hurt. Thank you. You came at the right time.” She strokes Kirug’s back; out of the press of the crowd, and with Ruulo herself calming down, his cries are easing. “No one touched Kirug. We’re alright.”

Captain Vaar’s eyes search her face. “Good,” she says finally. Looking at her now, at the naked concern in her gaze, Ruulo can’t remember why she ever found her hard to read.

Abruptly she realizes the captain hasn’t removed her hands from her shoulders.

“Captain,” Ruulo says slowly, lifting her hand, hesitating before she touches her face. “Were you worried for me?”

Captain Vaar says nothing, but under her fingers Ruulo can feel her cheeks heat.

Abruptly, the captain breaks away. “You’ll sleep on the ship tonight,” she says.

“Yes, Captain,” Ruulo agrees.

“I have business in the village,” the captain says, glancing at her sidelong. “Hishnak is aboard. She’ll see that you’re kept safe.”

“Yes, Captain,” Ruulo repeats. A tiny smile starts to tug at her lips; she presses it down.

Captain Vaar strides off without another word, leaving her to make her own way back to the _Salmon_. Bouncing Kirug gently in her arms as she wanders down the pier, Ruulo contemplates the idea of taking work as a sailor.

* * *

“You ready?” Hishnak says.

Ruulo takes stock of herself. Her dress and apron-skirt are as clean as she’s been able to make them after a month at sea; her hair is brushed and braided neatly back; Kirug is asleep in his wrap on her chest; all her other possessions are in the pack over her shoulder. The street feels strangely unsteady beneath her feet, but there’s no help for that: she’s gotten more used to the roll of a ship than she anticipated. She’s as prepared as she can expect to be.

“I think so,” she says.

Hishnak grins. “Normally I’d open the door, but, well.” She gestures eloquently to Kurzh, one arm slung over her shoulder, the other braced on a crutch they borrowed from the harbourmaster’s office, his right leg still wrapped in Captain Vaar’s splint. “This useless lump is getting in my way.”

“Dear sister,” Kurzh drawls, “don’t make me hit you with the crutch.”

“No fear, you’d fall over,” Hishnak says cheerfully. “Go on, Ruulo.”

Biting her lip on a laugh, Ruulo steps forward to push open the door to Hishnak and Kurzh’s family home. Still grinning, Hishnak manhandles her brother in through the doorway, calling a loud greeting to those inside.

Pandemonium breaks out almost before Ruulo has a chance to follow them in. There’s a general outcry, first over the siblings’ return from sea, then over the state of Kurzh’s leg, then over the unexpected presence of a guest. Someone takes Ruulo’s pack and stows it on a hook on one of the posts, and she’s ushered over to the firepit and immediately has a cup of watered wine pushed into her hands. Despite the steady stream of introductions Hishnak is muttering into her ear, she quickly loses track of all the new faces: the half-timbered hall that Hishnak’s family keeps is home to both her parents, her grandmother, an aunt and uncle, three sisters, one brother, a cousin, four spouses, two lovers, and more children than Ruulo can count.

Before long all the noise wakes Kirug, and he begins to squall against her breast—which only prompts all of Hishnak’s assorted relations to converge on her in their desire to fuss over him. At first Ruulo hesitates, not wanting a repeat of Haarz, but the aunt lifts him out of her arms without hesitation, already cooing over him. Soon he’s laughing and kicking happily as he’s passed about the room, everyone marvelling over the exotic paleness of his skin.

“So, as you can see,” Hishnak says, “he’ll have plenty of people to care for him if you decide to come back to sea with us.”

“Ooh, are you sailing with Captain Vaar?” says one of the sisters.

“Maybe,” Ruulo says shyly. “She offered me a job. I’m thinking about it.”

“You must have really impressed her,” says Hishnak’s mother. “She’s not free with job offers.” Her pleasure at having two children who made the cut is obvious.

“Well, I—” Ruulo begins, then falters.

Kurzh saves her. “She healed my leg,” he says, pleased and—proud? Why would he be proud? “The captain said she didn’t think it was going to heal right, and it might even have to come off, but Ruulo fixed it. When I take the splints off it should be almost good as new.”

Oh, Ruulo realizes. He’s proud of _her_.

Kurzh’s news prompts a second outcry, this one focused on Ruulo, and despite her protests the grandmother, the uncle, and two of the sisters immediately start discussing what might be in the larder to turn into a suitably celebratory dinner.

“Just let it happen,” Hishnak advises her. She’s next to Ruulo on the bench, lounging back against the wall with her long legs extended before her, holding Ruulo’s hand and toying absently with her knuckles. She’s still smiling; she hasn’t stopped since they arrived. “They’re just looking for an excuse, anyway. You should have seen them the first time I brought Vaar over for dinner.”

Vaar, she said—not the captain. Ruulo notes the change of address with a little thrill.

“And will Vaar be joining us tonight?” says the aunt slyly. She’s reclaimed Kirug and is rocking him with a rapturous expression on her face while he chews single-mindedly on the tie of her apron-skirt.

“She’d better be,” Hishnak retorts. “She knows what time dinner is.”

As it turns out, she arrives early. Ruulo is shelling peas alongside Hishnak’s cousin when the door opens for a second time, all of half an hour later. Hishnak, who was in the process of building up the fire in preparation for a roast, drops the log she’s holding and vaults over the nearest bench. She crosses the length of the hall in under four seconds and kisses Captain Vaar enthusiastically, cupping her face in a more exuberant echo of the first time she kissed Ruulo. Ruulo is intrigued to note that the captain kisses her back with just as much emotion.

She stands, brushing off her skirts and crossing the hall at a rather more sedate pace. By the time she reaches the couple, they’ve managed to disentangle themselves from each other, and Hishnak takes half a step back with a brilliant grin lighting up her face. Captain Vaar turns towards Ruulo, the slight stiffness of her movements only imperfectly covering her nervousness in Ruulo’s eyes. Ruulo stops facing her, hands folded demurely in front of her.

“Captain,” she says.

The captain inhales slowly. “Vaar,” she says firmly.

Ruulo can’t stop the smile that breaks across her face; she doesn’t even try. “Vaar,” she says, and leans in to kiss her lips.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/october_burns). I have a [blog](https://octoberburns.wordpress.com/). Come chat writing and book recs with me! And if you like my stories, I'd love it if you'd help support my work.


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